


Biblichor

by akire_yta



Series: prompt ficlets [431]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 05:44:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10507476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: navigatorsnorth asked for: Virgil and John and the smell of old books





	

John once called it ‘biblichor,” and every time Virgil stepped into John’s room, sense memory reminded him of the word.

John’s room on earth was at the far end of the hall, a little away from the other.  You had to be going there to get to the door; Virgil was too young to remember, but he wouldn’t be surprised if John had requested it that way.

He knew the others never came this way, and Virgil wondered if they’d ever been inside, ever caught that scent and wondered why.

The walls were lost behind shelves, rows and rows of books lining every surface that wasn’t a window.  There were dog-eared paperbacks nestled up against marble-edged hardcovers.  Virgil suspected there was a system there, but not one that could be understood by mortal minds.

John’s room had always been a library, for as long as Virgil could remember.  Whenever things were bad – when he’d been yelled at, when things had gotten really awful, after the funeral – he’d come in here and lie on John’s bed and breath in the scent of old books.  That dusty, calming smell was now so deeply entwined in the sense memory of the peace after tears that even stepping into the room was enough to make his shoulders relax.

His arm was aching now, bruises from where his harness had cut into his shoulder making themselves known.  Two was in the hangar, already almost lost under Brains’ robots and scaffolds as he repaired the Bird.

It was strange to be in here without John.  But he knew his brother wouldn’t begrudge him this now; he’d never so much as fluttered an eyelash any other time he’d found Virgil in his room before.

Virgil sank back onto the bed, crossways on the mattress.  Cradling his strained wrist on his chest, Virgil closed his eyes and breathed in deep the smell of a million printed pages.


End file.
